


Into the Fire

by FantasiaWandering



Series: Under Shield [13]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Big Brother Sans, Estranged Parents, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Goat Mom Is Best Mom, Healing, Magic, Parents and child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:26:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6320044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasiaWandering/pseuds/FantasiaWandering
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between the duties of being Ambassador and having the Minister of Education as your mother, lessons never really end for you. And while monster lessons are usually fun, magic is a tricky subject, and if you make mistakes, you're going to get burned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Playing With Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is about 12 at this point, and 15 by the end of the story.

When you live with the headmistress of your school, who also happens to be the Minister of Education for all monsterkind, it’s difficult to get away from lessons. Even your summer vacations are carefully planned to ensure you’re fulfilling all the expectations outlined in your personalized education plan.

Except that when you live with monsters, lessons are actually  _ fun _ .

These particular lessons, however, are a little different. You only ever get these in the summer, when Toriel, and sometimes Asgore, can get away from the Embassy long enough to take you to the little house up by the lake. Away from the crowds, and the throngs of people with their cameras, and the monsters looking to you for inspiration, you are free to make mistakes without fear of making anyone lose hope. Not to mention, for these particular lessons, you  _ really _ want to be near the water. You wrap your arms tightly around your knees as you sit near the shore, watching the waves drift in and out. The light breeze teases your hair and sets the golden heads of the flowers bobbing across the meadow, as though they’re hearing your thoughts and agreeing with you.

You wonder what  _ he _ would think.

“Frisk.”

Too lost in thought, you startle at the sound of your mother’s voice. Toriel kneels in front of you, taking your trembling hands between hers. The warmth, and softness, and gentleness in that touch is normally all you need to banish your fears, but this is not exactly an ordinary day.  Softly chafing some warmth back into your chilled fingers, Toriel touches her nose lightly to yours.

“My child, if you do not wish to do this, you need not.”

“Your mom’s right, Pumpkin.” Behind you, Asgore sets aside the pruning shears and dusts himself off as he rises from the tangle of raspberry brambles he’s attempting to wrestle into some semblance of submission. “Nobody’s going to be upset if you change your mind.” 

“Indeed not,” Toriel says. “We are happy to teach you, but you do remember your fundamentals, do you not?”

You nod solemnly. “Magic will only come if your will and your heart both want it.” You glance over at the waves gently lapping at the strip of sand that serves the lake for a beach. “I do want this. I really do. It’s just…”

“There is no shame in fear.” Toriel is so very gentle as she brushes the hair from your face, her fuzzy fingers soft against your cheek. Sometimes, you think, there is a reason why your mother gets along so well with Sans. They are both a study in contradictions. Your mother is so gentle, so warm, so loving, you would never have guessed the core of iron and fire within her if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes.

You reach for her, and she draws you into the safety and security of her arms. You bury your face against the soft cotton of her lavender blouse, and though it doesn’t smell quite as strongly of butterscotch and cinnamon as her vestments do, there’s enough of the scent, and the clovery smell that is uniquely your mother, to wrap you in familiar comfort.

You let go, and square your shoulders as you rise to your feet. “Okay. I’m ready to try again.”

“Good,” Toriel says, and turns you to face the lake. “Now, just like we practiced.”

You close your eyes, letting your breath come slow and steady, letting each breath fill you from your head to your toes. You open your eyes again, and reach for the magic within you. Your hands move, tracing a slow circle until they come to rest, one over the other, as though holding a ball between them. Your mother’s hands are on your shoulders, her silent support lending you strength, and it’s enough for you to break through that final barrier. Your breath leaves you in a long, slow rush, and you imagine your energy going with it, pouring into the hollow between your palms.

A soft, gentle flicker illuminates the shadows. It pulses, again and again, brighter each time, until a small flame hovers between your hands.

“I did it,” you breathe, concentrating too hard to give voice to the shrieks of delight you’d rather be giving. “Mom, do you see?”

“I see,” she says just as softly, her voice ringing with pride. “Well done, my child. Now, hold it steady. You are wavering.”

There’s nothing in her voice that even remotely hints at reproach or recrimination, but the power of suggestion is more than enough. The flame between your hands sputters, growing dim, and in a panic, you dump every remaining ounce of strength you have within you into the fire.

“No!” Toriel cries, but it’s too late. The fire in your hands bursts outward, blazing against the nearby grass and trees, and you shriek as the flames lick across your skin. Instantly, her hands close over yours, and you cry out again in fear as fire flares around your hands anew, but these green flames bring no pain. “Asgore!” Toriel snaps over her shoulder, but he’s already moving. The great trident appears in his hand as he bounds across the beach, and he drives it toward the water with a powerful swing. The resulting spray crashes over the grass and the brush, extinguishing the fire as quickly as you started it and preventing any errant sparks from igniting it again.

That done, Asgore drops down next to you, taking one of your hands from Toriel, and the green flame plays across his own fingers. Within moments, the pain in your hands begins to subside, and you blink up at your parents through your tears. “I’m sorry,” you say, in between sniffles.

Toriel can’t let go of your hand, but she leans over and nuzzles your hair. “Whatever for? You tried your best, did you not?”

“But I messed it up!” you protest.

“Yep, you did,” Asgore says, still staring with great concentration at his hands as they hold yours, though your little hand is lost between his big ones. “And you did it with us nearby to keep it under control, instead of trying to figure it out in secret on your own.” He coughs delicately. “Not that anyone in this family ever tried to do that.”

“Indeed,” Toriel says with a snort. “Why do you think we are doing this here and not at school?”

Shock pours cold and fast through your system, and you stare up at her in disbelief. “You mean you  _ expected _ me to mess up?”

“That’s the thing, Frisk,” Asgore says gently. “Everyone makes mistakes when they’re starting out.”

“But I got hurt!” 

“Yes. And you will remember now that magic is a powerful tool and not a toy to be trifled with, will you not?” Toriel raises an expectant brow, and you nod, however reluctantly. You’re not likely to forget that feeling any time soon. Her face gentles, and she give a soft, fond laugh. “Besides which, we are here to tend your hurts. Tell me, do you still feel the pain?” 

You blink down at your hands, but she’s right. Your parents are still working, the green fire still flickering between their fingers, but your hands don’t hurt any more. They haven’t hurt for a while, actually. “No…”

The deep thunder of Asgore's laugh reverberates through you. “Be glad you don’t have furry fingers, Pumpkin. Smells  _ awful _ when you singe it off, and boy howdy, does it take forever to grow back.”

That startles a giggle out of you, and you turn your attention to him. “You burned your fur off?”

He looks pained as he nods. “ _ Way _ too many times.”

“Did you?” you ask, turning to Toriel.

She sniffs delicately. “Certainly not.”

Asgore leans in, his whiskers tickling as they brush your ear. “Your mom was always way better than me,” he whispers, and chuckles as he settles back in place again. “I always found it easier to put fire  _ on _ things. Flaming sword, flaming spear -- Undyne was real fond of that one when she was a little fry, but she put her own twist on it when she grew up.”

You smile at that, but a thought occurs to you, and there’s a weight in your heart as you look down at the green magic that seems to come so effortlessly to your parents’ call. “Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m human.”

“Hey,” Asgore says, with a light tug on your hand to make sure he has your attention. “What brought this on?”

“You have been reading those terrible things on the Internet again,” Toriel growls, and your sheepish shrug confirms it. 

You know she hates it when you Google yourself and your family, but you think it’s important to know why the humans who don’t want monsters on the surface think it’s such a bad thing. Some of the latest and loudest insist that your parents shouldn’t be raising you, because humans and monsters are too different. “Maybe humans aren’t supposed to do magic,” you say softly.

“Nonsense.” Toriel lets go of your hand, and you wiggle your fingers, looking at the newly-healed skin on your palm, still shiny and pink from the magic. “Humans had enough magic to build an impenetrable barrier that lasted for millennia. Just because you have all forgotten  _ how _ to practice magic does not mean that you  _ cannot. _ ” 

Toriel holds out her hands, giving an impatient snap, and Asgore carefully passes your unfinished hand to hers. He may be powerful but he’s still not nearly as fast or as skilled at healing as Mom. In those few moments of transfer, pain flares in your palm again, though it’s not nearly as awful or intense as before. Then, your mother’s magic flares around you, and you let out a breath as a tide of relief washes through you.

“‘Sides, you can clearly  _ do _ it,” Asgore adds, gesturing at the scorched grass. “You just need work at the whole control thing.”

“Did…did Asriel ever mess up?” you ask. 

They exchange a look over your head, and you bite your lip uncertainly. In the beginning, you never, ever talked about him. There was an Asriel-shaped hole in every conversation you had with your parents in the years after you Fell. But lately, although you still can’t bring yourself to talk much about Katie, you’ve been asking more and more about your parents’ first child. And though you know it was painful at first, it’s been getting easier for them, too. When the pictures of him started to go back up in both your parents’ houses, it seemed a lot safer to ask, and there’s mostly joy in their voices when they talk about him now; only a hint of sadness tinges the ragged edges of the memories.

“Constantly,” Asgore says at last, with a gentle snort. “Tori, remember his ears?”

“Ohh, his poor ears!” Toriel hides a giggle behind one hand. “He was  _ so _ self conscious as the fur was growing back, but it was so very hard to keep from laughing. He just looked so  _ funny _ .” 

You gasp. “He set his  _ ears _ on fire?” Your gaze drifts to the long, silky fur on the ear that hangs over your mother’s shoulder, and you can’t imagine what on Earth she’d look like without it. It’s just so...so fluffy.

“Just the fur,” says Asgore. “But he never forgot  _ that _ lesson.”

“He was too much like you, my child.” Toriel releases your hand, and as the healing fire fades from her fingertips, she runs her hand over your hair. “There was no anger in him, you see. That made it more difficult for him. It is much easier to control the fire without when you have a great deal of practice controlling the fire within.”

You and your father are both staring at her, now. Slowly, very slowly, Asgore reaches out to lay his hand over Toriel’s where it rests atop your head. It’s a familiarity she would not have permitted even last year, but now she turns a smile upon him, one as fragile and fleeting as a snowdrop, but a smile nonetheless, before she pulls her hand out from beneath his. Asgore sighs softly, leaning toward her like a flower yearns for the sun. You look from one to the other, watching quietly, for you have learned something about your parents today, and it’s a struggle to find a place for this new understanding, but before you can dwell too much upon it, Asgore taps you on the brow with a fingertip.

“Feeling better?” he asks, and you nod in answer. A smile breaks across his face. “Good!” He seizes you around the waist and tosses you into the air, and even though you’re so much bigger now than the first time he did this, the shriek you always give as you soar has never once diminished in enthusiasm or in glee. Again and again, he throws you; over and over you land safely between his hands, laughing hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your mother watches, hiding her laughter behind a hand, and despite the angry snarl of hurt and history that still lies between your parents, in this moment, there is an amnesty. Here, in the (only slightly singed) flower-dappled meadow by the lake, they have given you the island of calm and peace you need to remember what it is to be a happy family, and you are not going to overlook that precious gift.

When you come to rest at last, breathless and light with laughter, you rest a hand against your father’s shoulder while reaching for your mother with the other. She takes it, both of them watching you with amused curiosity, and the love and affection that wraps around you like an old, soft blanket fills you with determination. 

“Okay. I’m ready to try again.”


	2. Getting Burned

 

**Several Years Later…**

* * *

Your feet dig into the earth, and you skid to a halt in a shower of dust and ash as a blazing branch crashes down on the path before you. You recoil as the heat sears your skin, but you’re already being hauled back from the fire. Sans’ death grip on your wrist is causing bruises, you can feel it, but you have no desire or inclination to ask him to let go. Coughing, your eyes stinging from the smoke, you drop to your knees at a safe distance, trying to get beneath the worst of the choking clouds.

“ **right,that’s it,** ” Sans says, panting as he stands over you. He opens his coat and wraps it around you, and blocks enough of the smoke that you can draw a clean breath, despite the fact that your head is jammed into his midsection. He winces, clearly still hurting from where a falling branch cracked him sharply across the shoulders on its way down. “ **we’re done. you’re getting outta here. now.** ”

“We can’t leave now!” you protest, pulling your head out from beneath his coat. “There might be more people!”

“. . . F r i s k.”

You narrow your eyes and jab a finger into his sternum. “Oh, no. Don’t you dare go all shadow-eye-spooky-voice on me, mister. I have a job to do, here, and I’m not leaving it until I know there’s nothing else I can do!” He blinks at you, looking pained, and you take his hands. “Sans, please. I know you’re tired, but I have to keep looking. Just a little longer. Please.”

His struggle is very visible on his face, but he knows how stubborn you are. And he knows why you’re so anxious to stay. The flames lick up the trees around you, the crackling and roaring like a vast and terrible music as the fire consumes everything. What you don’t tell him -- what you don’t _have_ to tell him -- is that if anyone is hurt by this fire, it will be a long time before you stop feeling responsible. You’ve been pushing hard for human-monster relations this summer, establishing satellite embassies across the world, and the vocal minority has been pushing back hard. It’s no secret that this forest is a popular campsite in no small part because of the large number of monsters who call it home; the tourists love it, and the forest’s residents by and large really enjoy teaching the visiting humans about their particular monster culture. It’s highly unlikely that a fire of this size and ferocity could reach this point under their watchful stewardship unless something helped it along.

This is your fault. You need to make it right. You need to make sure everyone lives.

Sans groans, and you know you’ve won. “ **five minutes,** ” he says. “ **then we’re gone**.” But you’re already on your feet, dodging the conflagration as you sprint toward the next campsite, Sans calling after you as he races to keep up.

Four-and-a-half minutes later, you find the group of campers trapped behind a burning thicket. As Sans pounds up behind you, you reach out for the fire, breathing steady and slow as you calm yourself and sink down, grasping for the shaky core of magic within you. Slowly, in response to your call, the flames flicker, and gutter, and fade. The humans trapped within the grove call out and stumble toward the safe passage you’ve cleared, and the shadowy figures behind the smoke resolve themselves into two women and a little boy. But they’ve been held long within the burning grove, and they stagger and fall, unable to go any farther.

Slowly, you turn to look at Sans.

He stares at you, and you swear he’s going to be sick. &ldquo **kid, i’m sorry. i can’t. two i could do. three, maybe, if the third is the little guy. but not four.** ”

You can’t blame him. You’ve both been at this for ages, striking into the conflagration and short-cutting out with the people you’ve rescued. Sans is exhausted. The beads of moisture dotting his skull aren’t just from the heat, and his entire body droops in defeat.

Sinking down before him, you wrap your arms around him and rest your chin on his shoulder. “It’s okay,” you say. “You don’t have to do four.”

His arms have already drifted up around you out of long ingrained habit, but at your words, they tighten to a point just shy of hurting you. There’s a desperation in them -- a roughness born of the crippling fear that if they let go, they’ll never hold you again. Once again, you don’t have to explain yourself. He knows you far too well. “ **are you nuts?** ” He comes as close to shouting as he ever does with you. “ **no. i am *not* leaving you in this!** ”

“Not for long,” you say, holding him tightly. “Just long enough to get them out. Then you can come back for me.” You let go, gesturing at the exit you just cleared in the thicket. “I can handle this much. Get them someplace safe, and you can come right back and get me. I’ll be fine.”

“ **frisk…** ”

“Sans.” The tears on your face have nothing to do with the smoke as you look down at the humans sprawled next to you. The mothers have curled around their little boy, sheltering him in the protection of their arms, but none of them are moving any more. There’s just the soft sound of the child’s muffled weeping. “They deserve their happy ending,” you whisper. “Sans, we can’t just let them die.”

He groans again, an empty, hollow sound, like the creaking of ice-covered branches in winter, and you know that you’ve won. Skeletal hands cup your face, and though the touch is gentle, you’re trapped between them, for he’s as sturdy and immovable as a graveyard statue. You stare deep into the featureless hollows of his eyes, not even a glimmer within them to light your path and guide you through the dark.

“ **this plan really burns me up,** ” he says, and despite the severity of the situation, or perhaps because of it, you begin to laugh. It ends quickly as the smoke fills your lungs, however, and he holds you steady as you fight to regain your breath. “ **you stay safe, you hear me? if you go and get yourself hurt before i get back, i am never going to forgive you.** ”

“I’ll be okay,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “ **nope. not good enough. you know what i want, buddy.** ”

Your jaw clenches as the time slowly slips away and the forest dies around you. The heat presses against you, tightening your skin, and the roar of the fire grows deafening. The popping of the sap in the dying branches echoes like gunshots around you, and you look toward the fallen family. The sight of the two mothers wrapped in love and protection around their child…fills you with determination.

“ **good kid.** ” He wants to say more, you can see it, but the boy has stopped crying now, succumbing to the heat and smoke. Sans lets go of you slowly, every movement outlined in reluctance, and reaches for the family. “ **i’ll be right back.** ”

In another instant, you’re alone, and the flames are closing in.

You pull a bandanna out of your pocket and wrap it around your face, squinting against the darkness as you stay as low to the ground as you can. You were very careful, in your assurances to Sans, to avoid promising to stay where you were. The fire is moving too fast, and you know your skeleton brother far too well. He’s got a huge heart and he’s immensely powerful, but he’s also been at this all night, and he’s tired. You can’t count on him being able to make another trip. If there’s a way out, you need to find it yourself.

The sweat-soaked bandanna isn’t perfect, but it cuts the smoke enough for you to breathe, and you prepare to move, only to freeze suddenly. You catch your breath and wait, ears straining until you hear the muffled sound again.

You missed it before, lost beneath the roar of the fire and the boy’s tears, but you can hear it now, coming from the clearing the family just stumbled out of.

There’s another child crying.

The fire is already beginning to creep back over the gap you cleared, and it singes your clothes as you plunge through it. But there, huddled in the shelter of the collapsed tent that saved her from the worst of the smoke, you can see her. Ragged and dirty and trembling, the little girl’s eyes widen in terror until you pull the cloth away from your face.

“Hi,” you tell her, trying to keep your voice light despite the rawness of your throat and lungs. “I’m Frisk. What’s your name?”

“V-Vetha.” She blinks at you through her tears. “You’re the princess from TV.”

“Yeah, I’m on it a lot, aren’t I?” Smiling, you hold out your hand. “My brother just took your family someplace safe. Let’s go find them, okay?”

Her lip trembles, and she crawls into your lap, burying her head against you. “I heard them calling, but I w-was scared.”

“I know,” you soothe, stroking her hair as she clings to you. A flash of bright cloth catches your attention, and you reach for it, pulling out a little pink hoodie, still wet with dew thanks to the tent canvas that collapsed on top of it. “They won’t be mad. They’ll just be happy you’re okay. I promise.” Tugging the bandanna back over your nose and mouth, you heave yourself back to your feet, hoisting Vetha more securely into place on your hip. “Hang on as tight as you can, okay?”

She nods, and you drape the damp hoodie over her head. Vetha clings to you, her little arms made strong by panic, and you hold her tightly as you plunge back through the flames.

It’s been a long time since you’ve run like this outside of one of Undyne’s training sessions, and you find yourself wishing for ballet shoes as you race through the forest. The fire pursues you as doggedly as Undyne ever did, only the dying trees hurl blazing branches and twigs instead of spears. Your lungs are in agony, but your cargo is too precious, and you don’t dare slow down. As you race up a moss-covered outcrop, your feet finding the tiny cracks and imperfections that give you a foothold in the stone, you dig out your phone and text Alphys as quickly as you can. 

> WHERE RU

An instant later, the message comes back to you, sloppy and riddled with typos that autocorrect can’t account for, and you can practically hear the frenzied scrabble of your friend’s claws on the screen.

> HIT A SNAG GAS PYIEP IN TEH WAY MOLE MONSTERS DIVERTHING NOW ON THE WAY HANG TIGTH.

_Easy for you to say._ You shove the phone back in your pocket and wrap both arms around Vetha, seeking a way to safety. The wind sends glowing embers dancing around you like fairy lights, only these sear and sting as they land on your cheeks. Wincing, you tug the hoodie more securely over the little girl’s head. The heat has sucked most of the moisture out of it, but at least it can protect her from the cinders. You cough as you turn in a slow circle, trying to get your bearings. _There._ The ground slopes away to a valley, which might at least make it a little easier to breathe. You reach out for the fire, ordering it to let you pass, and a gap in the flames opens just long enough for you to dart through.

Your feet skid in the ash as you descend, but at least you’re starting to get beneath the smoke. Every breath hurts now, but you just have to hold out a little longer. Just a little… Vetha whimpers against you, and you pat her head through the hoodie. “Just hang on. We’ll be out of this soon.”

One way or another… At least you have a point to return to, though it’s been so long, and you’ve been trying so hard to control the fire with the little magic you possess that the instinctive knowledge you use to have, that strange understanding that let you peel back reality and try to correct your mistakes… It’s so fuzzy in your memory now…

You jerk sharply, a full-body spasm as you realize that you’re on your knees with no memory of how you got there. Struggling for air, you lurch back to your feet as you try to calm Vetha’s terrified weeping. This is bad. This is very bad. But you can’t give up now. Not when so much is riding on this.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I won’t.”

The fire is an angry, malevolent thing now. As though it can sense your weakness, it surges forward, closing in around you. There’s nowhere left to run; every path that might once have led out of the valley is an inferno. But you can’t let it end here. Not like this. Closing your eyes, you dig deep to the last drops of magic within you, and fling everything you have left at the fire.

_Get out of my way!_

A ripple passes through the conflagration, drawing a dark line through the brilliance. For just a moment, a path of ash and ember lies open before you. Then, before you can move, it closes again with a roar of triumph, and the flames leap toward you in a sudden surge of energy.

You have no breath left to cry out, but you hold Vetha close, pressing your head against hers in silent apology as the fire closes in.

“ ** _You will_** **not** **_have my child!_** ”

The clear and terrible roar rings out over the forest, and the burning trees tremble in response. Choking on a gasp, you look up, searching desperately for the source of that beloved, familiar voice. In another moment, your path opens again, only instead of your tiny thread through the fire, this magic cuts a great swathe through it, the roaring flames surging up on either side of you, rushing like ocean tides . And there, perched atop the cliff at the end of the path, stands Toriel, the fire behind her casting her into silhouette like some sort of avenging angel.

Vetha peeks out from beneath the hoodie and let out a soft gasping cry, and you find yourself doing the same. Gone are the matronly teacher’s blouses, and the funny sweaters, and the regal vestments. Instead, armour gleams in their place, the Delta Rune on her breastplate catching the light and shining as though with a fire of its own. Her face twisting in determined rage, Toriel slashes the air before her with burning claws, and the fire around her surges forth in response, submitting to your mother’s command. You can’t blame it. No one would dare contradict such a creature of light and fire.

“ _Asgore!”_ Toriel bellows, and calls the fire to her again.

“ _On it!”_ A deep voice rings out right behind you, and your knees grow weak in response as relief rushes through you. Before you can fall, an arm sweeps around your waist, pulling you securely back against your father’s armour.

“Howdy, Pumpkin,” he says, and with his free hand, he swings his trident forward in a great arc. The earth buckles and furrows beneath it, the flames faltering as he digs a fire break deep into the ground. Vetha, eyes wide, peers out from beneath her hoodie, and Asgore lets out a soft breath as he catches sight of her frightened face. “And you’ve found a little peach, I see.” The trident whirls, and in the wind of its passing, the fire around you flickers and dies.

Up on the hilltop, Toriel continues to work. As her burning hands carve glowing trails through the air, the fire swirls in ribbons around her until her armour glows like a midnight sun against the dark sky. “Dad,” you breathe, staring at her in wonder.

“I know,” he answers softly. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“I’ve never seen her like this,” you say, though your words end in a wracking cough.

Asgore draws you closer. One of his great hands cradles your head, forming a shield against the smoke. “No,” he agrees. “It’s been a long time.” He’s staring at her just as steadily as you are, a sad smile on his face. “But in a situation like this, there is no one I would rather have at my side. Didn’t we tell you?” He finally looks down at you. “During the war, Toriel was not just our Queen. She was also my general.”

Both of Toriel’s hands stretch toward the sky. Obedient to her command, the fire obeys, and the stars above are lost in a torrent of orange and gold.

The ground next to you trembles and splits, and a pale, eyeless monster with impossibly large hands tipped with glittering claws pulls itself free of the soil. Then another, and another as the gap they emerge from grows steadily wider. Vetha squeaks and hides her head against you, and you pat her distractedly before waving madly at the subterranean monsters. “Hi Gortekeshrulan! Hi Kazhkerkesh! Hi Helen!”

Helen waves back as the three mole monsters scramble away from the gash in the earth. Seconds later, a scaly yellow head pops free and Alphys drags herself clear, covered in dirt and gasping. “Oh g-good! H-here you are! I was w-worried the heat was interfering with your GPS tracker.” She glances back over her shoulder, and her eyes widen just before she darts toward you. “It’s coming fast!”

The mole monsters pick up their speed, and Asgore moves to join them as a new, deeper rumbling makes itself heard. You can feel it through the soles of your feet, and through Asgore’s, for he still hasn’t let go of you. Which is for the best, really, as you’re not entirely sure you’re capable of standing on your own right now.

A chill wash of air flows from the wound in the earth, flowing over you and raising the hair on your arms as the inferno around you seems, for just a moment, to come to a standstill. Then, another figure emerges from the fissure, and a wall of water surges up behind her. Undyne stands poised on the edge like a god out of myth, the crimson fire of her hair vivid against the crashing water behind her. And though you can, from a practical standpoint and given how the two of you first met, understand why Undyne would want a light armour in the face of all the heat, you can’t help but raise a brow at the metal bikini she’s wearing, and you turn to look at Alphys.

“You two have been watching too much anime,” you call out to her.

“There’s no such thing,” Alphys retorts, blushing. “Besides, it’s not like I was going to tell her ‘no.’ Have you s- _seen_ how awesome she looks in that thing?”

Oblivious to the exchange, Undyne turns and bellows toward Alphys. “HANG ON TO SOMETHING, BABYCAKES!”

Paling, Alphys reaches out and winds her arms around the nearest tree that’s not on fire.

As soon as she sees that Alphys has done so, Undyne sweeps her spear forward, and the water answers her call. The rushing, burbling waters of the stream her team has diverted crash through the valley toward Toriel. At the queen’s clarion command, the mole monsters leap back into action, digging a network of trenches into the heart of the blaze.

Asgore stands fast, a bulwark against the tide as the waters crash around you. Woshua and his crew have been following Asgore’s path, and though your father’s momentary distraction as he tended to you stalled them, they surge around you in the wake of the stream, finally given something with which they can refill their reservoirs. Freshly restocked, they move to join the fire crew as the hiss of the sputtering fires and the peals of Undyne’s triumphant laughter mark the river’s passing.

The fire fights back bravely, but in the end, it is no match for the dual assault of your parents’ iron commands and the smothering waters wielded by Undyne and her team. In stark contrast to the hours of deadly flames that preceded it, the fire dies in no time at all. Barely an hour later, you stand in the smouldering forest, leaning against your father for support as you watch the news crews set up an impromptu podium on an outcrop not far off. It really didn’t take them any time at all. You can always count on them to be there when you’ve just gotten through the worst, and all you want to do is fall down and sleep for a month.

“How’re you holding up, Pumpkin?” Asgore murmurs, mindful of the listening microphones even at this distance.

“I’m pretty tired,” you tell him, fighting off a cough.

He has more to say, but Toriel chooses that moment to sweep down upon you, and his words are lost in a soft, wistful sigh. Still immaculate despite the fire and smoke, your mother cups your soot-stained face in her hands, peering down at you in desperate concern. “My child, are you all right? You are not hurt?” She narrows her eyes, glaring at the reddened patches on your arms. You can’t see them, but you can feel that the embers have left their marks on your face as well -- an observation confirmed by the fact that green fire wreathes your head a moment later, and as unnerving as that particular sensation is, the worst of the stinging fades.

With a breath of quiet relief, you nod. “I’m fine, Mom,” you assure her. “But Vetha here could use some help.” You reach up and draw the hoodie away from the little girl’s head. Her face is still buried against you, but she looks up, blinking in the pre-dawn light, and lets out a little squeak at the sight of the monsters gathered around her.

“Oh,” Toriel breathes, her gaze softening instantly. “Oh, you poor little thing.”

“Sans got her family out,” you explain in answer to Toriel’s questioning look. “But Vetha was stuck under a tent. She and I had to take the long way ‘round.”

“Greetings, small one.” your mother says, her sweet smile lighting up the entire clearing around you. “I am Toriel.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, shifting Vetha a little as your leg starts to fall asleep. “This is my Mom. She’s a queen and she’s very nice, and she’s the one who just saved our lives.” Giving the little girl an encouraging smile, you incline your head toward your mother. “She’ll make sure you find your moms.”

Vetha’s lip trembles as her eyes fill with tears, and Toriel’s answering, instinctive coo is all the impetus she needs. Vetha reaches out, and Toriel sweeps the child up against her;  even clad in armour, Toriel’s arms are the safest, most comforting place in the world. Vetha’s arms wrap around your mother in turn, the child’s face shining as she gazes upon her rescuer. Laughing softly, Toriel touches her nose lightly to Vetha’s, and you can see that the child is lost. As it should be. No lost child can resist your mother’s love and adoration, and Toriel has yet to meet an innocent child she has not loved instantly. With a tiny sigh, Vetha lays he head down on the silky ear falling over Toriel’s shoulder.

“Mom,” you say, your voice trembling, and Toriel’s attention is instantly back upon you, her brow furrowing in concern. You gesture toward the growing crowd of reporters, leaning even more heavily on Asgore. Now that Vetha’s weight has been lifted from you, your arms and legs don’t even feel like a part of you any more. “Could you talk to them? I don’t think I can make it up that hill right now.” Your words end in a cough, and Toriel loosens her hold on Vetha just enough that she can lay a gentle hand on your cheek.

“Of course I can, my child.” She shifts her gaze to Asgore, and almost as though she’s not even aware she’s doing it, her hand drifts over his arm, subtly checking him for hurts, just as she’s done for you. Satisfied, her fingers brush against his before returning to secure her hold on Vetha. “You will keep our young one safe?”

It’s not really a question. Asgore smiles and inclines his head. “Always,” he says.  

With a final, fond look, she turns to make her way toward the throng. Undyne and Alphys are already there, reporters falling right and left to get out of Undyne’s way as she clears a path toward the podium, the first rays of dawn glinting off her bikini armour. Alphys pauses, and pulls out her phone to take a picture.

Toriel pauses too, and looks over her shoulder at Asgore. “Working alongside you again like this,” she says quietly. “It felt...felt…”

“I know, Tori,” your father says.

She smiles at him, and straightening, pulls the mantle of Queen around her once more, so that when she strides toward the assembled journalists, she is practically dripping regal authority.

Only when she’s out of earshot do you finally allow your knees to buckle.

“Whoa, there!” Banishing his trident, Asgore catches you in both arms and bears you to the ground with him. Fussing, he arranges you carefully against his side before running his hands over you, his fingers awash with healing fire. “Pumpkin, what’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”

You shake your head. “Just a little singed,” you say, and even getting the words out is a chore. “I’m just tired.”

“Y o u   m o v e d.”

You glance up at Sans, not even surprised that he’s just shown up out of nowhere, and shrug. “It was hot. And I’m fine, like I told you I would be.” You ignore your father’s muttered “that’s debatable” as you smile up at Sans. “Don’t get steamed,” you tell him.

Sans snorts and drops remarkably bonelessly for someone who’s nothing _but_ bones, ending up sprawled half across you. It takes about all the energy you have left in you, but you reach out to rest your hand against his shoulder. “Did you get them out okay?”

“ **sure,** ” he says, your exhaustion echoed and amplified in his voice. “ **left ‘em at the med station with my bro. he and grillby are setting up a mess tent.** ” He shifts just a little in his sprawl, enough to see your face, and with what seems to be a herculean amount of effort, he lifts his hand and lets it drop down over yours. “ **we got everyone out, kiddo. lots of cuts and burns and scared folks, but nobody got left behind.** ”

Your breath leaves you in a rush, and you sag back against your father in relief. Despite the armour, Asgore makes a very good backrest, and you’re too tired to feel much discomfort either from the metal at your back or from the skeleton draped across your legs.

“There you go,” Asgore says. He’s a little distracted as he wraps his fingers gently around the worst of the burns on your arm, his face a study in concentration as the tingle of healing magic sinks into your skin. “A little monster food will have everyone right as rain in no time.”

“ **grillby’s will, at least,** ” Sans says, one eye closed, but the other still on you. “ **papyrus is just noodling around.** ”

The laughter he clearly expects bursts out of you, but it dissolves quickly into a dry, racking cough that shreds your lungs and leaves you gasping for air. Both eyes open now, Sans exchanges a worried look with Asgore.

“ **speaking of monster food…** ”

“I’m fine,” you tell them both.

“You keep using that word,” Asgore reprimands lightly. “But not, I think, correctly.” His hand hovers over your chest, and he pauses with a questioning look. “May I…?”

You nod. Asgore’s fingers flex, and the feel of him changes, ever so slightly. In response, your soul drags free of you to hover beneath his palm, and you gasp softly at the sting of it. Letting your head rest against the arm holding you upright, you stare at the flickering light of your soul. Perhaps it’s just the wan light of dawn making it look that way -- you always remembered it being brighter. Sans and Asgore exchange another look, and Asgore lifts his hand, letting your soul sink back where it belongs.

“You...used a great deal of magic, didn’t you, Pumpkin?”

Asgore’s voice is very soft, but the words still sting. “I tried. For all the good it did.” Talking is harder now. You’re still so tired, and the coughing has left your throat painfully raw. But you’re not so tired that you can’t roll your eyes as Sans reaches into his jacket, and you groan softly. “No more hot dogs. No more hot anything. Please.”

“ **don’t worry, buddy. got some fried snow here i haven’t had a chance to fry yet.** ” He pulls out a snowcone, still impossibly icy, and hands it to you with a wink. “ **this one’s on the house.** ”

It takes Asgore’s help to guide your shaking hands, but the first mouthful of snow dissolves on your tongue, tasting faintly of honey and lemons, and the cool relief it brings to your aching throat almost brings tears to your eyes. Before long, you can manage it on your own and Asgore returns to work, though the light of his healing magic is complemented now by a faint green luminescence shimmering in the veins beneath your skin. When the last of it is gone, you can breathe again, and you’re capable of sitting up on your own. You elect not to, though; you’re comfortable where you are. You do smile, however, as Sans’ hand finds yours again, both of you taking comfort in the contact. You were so occupied with everyone else’s safety during the crisis that you didn’t have time to be afraid. Now, belatedly, the panic creeps up on you, trying to find a weakness in your defenses. But you’re in good company, and Asgore and Sans are both adept at keeping the fear at bay.

A swell of noise from the gathered reporters draws your attention toward the podium on the hill. The sun is finally clearing the horizon, and your mother is ready to address the crowd. “Oop. Here we go. Good timing.”

“Your mother always did know how to make an entrance,” Asgore says, his voice warm with fond memories.

Toriel ascends the outcrop toward the podium, still carrying Vetha. You were fairly certain that would be the case; you know yourself that when you’re afraid, you’d rather walk across broken glass than let go of Toriel even for a moment, and there is no force on Earth or Underground that can make Toriel abandon a child in need. As she reaches the top of the hill, the rising sun strikes her armour, and your mother and the child she carries are bathed in light as a halo erupts around them. An answering murmur runs through the crowd, and you lean back against your father with a contented smile as Toriel begins to address the throng.

“ **that is one classy lady,** ” Sans says in quiet admiration.

“That she is,” Asgore agrees, and your free hand finds his.

Together, the three of you listen to Toriel’s speech, and though you know how furious she must be at the humans who had a hand in the fire, there is no sign of it in her voice. Instead, she speaks of the bravery of the rescuers, human and monster both, who came to the aid of those in need. Of the cooperation shown between the races, proving that together, there is nothing you cannot accomplish.

“You really should be up there too,” Asgore whispers, and you understand his reluctance to break the mood.

But you shake your head. “No,” you say with calm certainty. “Look.”

In that moment, as Toriel speaks of reuniting families separated by the tragedy, Vetha gazes at her with rapt adoration, her features luminous in the golden glow of the rising sun. Resolution sweeps across Toriel’s features, and she raises her head in regal command, her hand sweeping across the crowd. “ _So long as monsters walk the surface of this earth,_ ** _your children are protected!_** _”_ But despite the passionate ferocity in her words, the look she turns upon the little girl in her arms is full of such tender warmth and love that it practically steals your breath, and as Toriel’s nose touches ever so lightly to the little girl’s, the cameras in the crowd below erupt into a blaze of flashing light.

“There,” you say softly. “They needed to see this.”

Asgore and Sans both turn to look at you, Asgore with a look of shocked wonder, while Sans just seems smugly amused. “Pumpkin,” Asgore says slowly. “You _planned_ this?”

“No, not getting hurt,” you say, your gaze still on the podium. There’s a commotion in the crowd now, flashes going off like fireworks as Vetha’s mothers push their way through the reporters. “But after…” You sigh, trying to find words to explain a decision you made almost entirely on instinct, every fibre of your being just _knowing_ it was the right one. “Everyone needs to see monsters like I do if we’re going to stop stuff like this from happening again.”

Her face a mask of benevolence, Toriel opens her arms as Vetha’s mothers race up to the podium with her little brother in tow. Rather than giving Vetha away, the entire family is swept into Toriel’s embrace instead. The only tears on their faces now are joyous ones, and Vetha’s mothers are kissing Toriel with as much enthusiasm as they are their child. Their cheeks are not the only damp ones in the crowd, and the cameras are clicking so fast and furious they almost echo the earlier roar of the blaze that nearly cost everything.

Asgore tears his gaze away and focuses on you once more. “You… are very, _very_ good,” he says, awed and just a little nonplussed.

“ **kid’s a natural.** ” Sans reclines against you, folding his hands behind his head. ” **you picked the right human for the job.** ”

“Yes.Yes, I rather think I did.”

Asgore’s arm encircles your shoulders, and you snuggle more comfortably against him as you watch the scene playing out on the hill. Human children have monsters to look out for them now, but someone still needs to look out for the monsters, and it’s a task to which you have devoted yourself without hesitation. It’s still largely a thankless one at the moment, at least where most of humanity is concerned, and you know that you’re constantly playing with fire. There are days, like today, where you will inevitably get burned, both figuratively and literally. But in the end, it’s worth it. In the end, you don’t want to live in a world without the kindness and compassion and love that monsters bring to it. Given half a chance, they can bring out the best in humanity as well.

Days like today… they’re the ones that make it all worth it.

[Art by Aradow](http://aradow.tumblr.com/post/142261219079/fantasiawandering-into-the-fire-tada-finally)

[Art by Aradow](http://aradow.tumblr.com/post/142052051114/fantasiawandering-for-her-into-the-fire-story)


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